


Exposed

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen, Obscure and British Commentfest, stolen clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie's clothes have disappeared while he was swimming. Worse, Samantha and Victoria are having a picnic nearby...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> Having left this scenario as a prompt in the commentfest, I then couldn't help writing it myself.

As he paddled to the shore and prepared to climb out, Jamie's heart sank. In the time since he had left his clothes in the quiet spot under the weeping willow, it was evident that there had been some changes. His kilt and jumper were nowhere to be seen; moreover, two attractive young women of his acquaintance had arrived, and were now taking a leisurely picnic. 

"A little more cherry cake?" Victoria was asking. 

"Oh, I shouldn't." Samantha's protest was clearly a matter of form; even as the words left her mouth, her hand was closing around a slice. "Did you make it yourself?" 

"I did," Victoria said modestly. 

"It's very good." 

"The cherries have all sunk to the bottom. I don't know why that happens." 

"My mam rolls 'em in flour." Samantha glanced in the direction of the river. "Hey, Jamie, what are you hanging around there for? You'll catch your death of cold. Come out and have a bit of Victoria's cake." 

At the mention of cake Jamie took a step forward, but came to a halt with the water lapping around his waist. Blushing, he mumbled something. 

Victoria sipped at her lemonade. "I'm afraid I didn't hear that. Would you mind repeating yourself?" 

"I'm not wearing anything," Jamie said, still brick-red. "What've you two done wi' my clothes?" 

"Your clothes?" Victoria gave him a blank look. "I haven't seen your clothes. Did you see his clothes when we came here, Sam?" 

Samantha, her mouth full of cake, merely shook her head. 

"Och, come on," Jamie protested. "It's got to be you. You've put them in yon picnic basket, haven't you?" 

Samantha gulped down her mouthful of cake. "No, wack, we haven't," she said. "Look." 

She crawled across to the basket and tipped it up, showing plainly that it was empty. 

"Behind yon tree, then." 

"Jamie, I don't understand you," Victoria said plaintively. "Do you really think we have stolen your clothes? You should know I'd never do something like that." 

"Sam would." 

"I've been with her all afternoon and she has done no such thing." 

"Yeah." Samantha took a swig of lemonade. "You tell him, Vic." 

"I assure you that neither of us has interfered with your clothes," Victoria said. "You do believe me, don't you?" 

"Aye," Jamie said. 

"That's more like it," Samantha said. "Now come and have some cake. Or a pork pie." 

"But I still haven't got anything to wear." 

"You just come out as you are. We won't mind, will we, Vic?" 

"My name is not Vic. And we cannot oblige Jamie to walk around in a state of nature for the whole afternoon." 

Samantha grinned. "Why not?" 

"How would you feel if the situation was reversed?" 

"I'd cope," Samantha said defiantly, and paused for a little in thought. "How about this? Jamie comes out and we get a good look at him. Then we find something for him to wear." 

Victoria looked around. "How? Clothes hardly grow on trees." 

"Well, he can borrow my jacket." 

"But not your skirt," Victoria said. "It is barely adequate even for you." 

"Got to be your skirt, then, hasn't it?" 

Victoria put her hand to her mouth. "My skirt? That is out of the question... but I suppose I could spare my petticoat." 

"OK." Samantha turned back to Jamie. "Right. Out you get." 

Reluctantly, Jamie stepped out of the water, all too aware of the two girls' enthralled gazes. 

"Oh, I'm gonna remember this _forever_ ," Samantha sighed. 

Victoria was fanning herself with a folded napkin. "I feel quite overcome." 

"Right. Yeah." With a visible effort, Samantha pulled herself together. "Our turn. Here's my jacket." 

She pulled her jacket off and tossed it to Jamie. Rather than try to wear it properly, he draped it around his shoulders. 

"Now your turn, Victoria," Samantha said. 

Victoria, who was still fanning herself, jumped. "Oh! Yes, by all means. Jamie, would you mind turning your back?" 

"Hang on!" Jamie protested. "How come you're allowed to see me in the altogether but I've got to look away?" 

"'Cos you're a gentleman and we're not," Samantha said triumphantly. 

This logic being unassailable, Jamie averted his gaze. 

"Would you help me with these ribbons, please?" Victoria asked. 

There was a rustle of fabric. Then Samantha's voice said sharply "Jumping Jiminy!" 

"Whatever is the matter?" Victoria's voice asked. 

"It's just... I'd never have expected you wore _those_ under all that Victorian stuff. Not in a million years." 

"Really? I find them very comfortable. Far more than the underwear of my time. Are they a little racy, do you suppose?" 

"Racy? Those'd give Stirling Moss a run for his money. Doesn't it get—" 

There was another rustle of fabric, and then Victoria, talking over Samantha, said "You may turn around now, Jamie." 

Jamie turned. Samantha, who looked slightly shell-shocked, handed him a demure, pale blue flannel petticoat. Behind her, Victoria was holding the plate of cake. 

"Once you are decent, we would be honoured if you would join us," she said. 

"Thanks." Jamie pulled the ridiculous garment on, sat down, and took the proffered cake. "But hang on. If you didn't take my clothes, who did?" 

In the heart of a bramble thicket some distance away, Isobel Watkins glumly began to dismantle her camera. She scowled down at the untidy bundle of Jamie's clothes, which lay at her feet. All she had to show for her trouble was a few blurred shots at extreme distance, and those picnicking girls had got in the way of the interesting bits. This sort of stunt, she was beginning to think, wasn't as easy as the paparazzi made it look.


End file.
